


Blurred Lines

by getpitchslapped



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getpitchslapped/pseuds/getpitchslapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beca discovers the dangers of assumptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurred Lines

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt: Beca has woken up in the same bed as Chloe one the day of Chloe's graduation after a crazy Bellas leaving party for Chloe. Beca can't remember what happened, and she freaks out and skips town. It's only two months later when she realizes she's made a mistake and she wants Chloe back. However, Chloe is pretty reluctant to try after what Beca did to her.

_Thump._

Beca lands on the floor in a half-asleep heap, smacking her elbow on the wood floor upon impact. The sting is quickly overpowered by the jackhammer inside her head.

“Shit.” Beca holds her head, which is throbbing hard enough to be a cause for concern, before wrenching open her eyes.

Hold on.

“This isn’t my room…” Beca mutters to herself, her pulsating head making internal monologue difficult at best. No, the room is far too pink to belong to Beca.

Pink.

This is Chloe’s room.

“Fuck!” Beca scrambles—as best she can whilst feeling as though the room is spinning on an axis—to her feet, assessing her surroundings. For whatever reason, Beca is in Chloe’s room at—she checks the digital alarm clock on Chloe’s nightstand—six in the morning, and Chloe is nowhere to be found. She shivers, realizing for the first time that she is clad only in her bra and—Beca notices as she nearly trips on a too-long pantleg—Chloe’s favorite pair of sweatpants. She finally locates her shirt from last night, lying crumpled on the desk chair, and pulls it over her head (she has no idea where her own pants are, and she doesn’t want to steal Chloe’s favorite sweats, but desperate times call for desperate measures). The shirt reeks of cheep liquor. Beca wrinkles her nose, stuffing her feet in her sneakers (discarded in the corner of the room, devoid of socks) and tiptoeing down Chloe’s hallway, spotting her phone on the living room coffee table along with a large number of empty beer cans, grabs it, and lets herself quietly out of the apartment. She’s halfway down the stairs before reality hits: she just woke up half-naked in her best friend’s bed with a raging hangover and no memory at all of the events leading up to it.

Beca scrolls through her contacts before selecting a number and pressing  _call_. The phone rings once, twice.

“Jesse?” Beca says, her voice cracking. “I fucked up.”

* * *

Beca stares out the window of Jesse’s beat-up Subaru, feeling almost suffocated by the silence. Luckily (or perhaps unfortunately) Jesse lives locally, making him Beca’s only car-accessible friend, excluding Chloe. And maybe Aubrey, but Beca doesn’t think the blond would take very well an-early morning rescue mission from her best friend. Jesse clears his throat awkwardly and Beca winces, waiting or the inevitable line of question.

“Must’ve been some party,” Jesse says, trying to lighten the mood. Beca glares at him. “Well, did you at least get laid?”

“Jesse!” Beca’s face flushes red. “I will not even justify that with an answer.”

“Those aren’t your pants,” Jesse points out.

Beca grits her teeth. “I don’t remember. All I know is that I went to Chloe’s apartment for Aubrey and Chloe’s graduation party last night and then I woke up this morning in Chloe’s room.”

“You don’t remember anything?” Jesse asks, raising his eyebrows. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Um, I may have bet Fat Amy that I could out-drink her,” Beca mutters, averting her gaze.

Jesse bursts out laughing. “Are you insane? No wonder you don’t remember anything.”

“I may not have been of sound mind when I made that decision,” Beca says, tipping her head back and groaning. “I’m screwed.”

* * *

“Shit!” Chloe drops her keys to the ground, blowing on her hand. She had tried to juggle two coffee cups whilst unlocking her door, but it isn’t working out too well—now she has a scalded hand and coffee on her jeans. Grunting in frustration, Chloe sets the cups on the ground before trying to open her door ( _Why hadn’t I thought of that before?_ she wonders to herself).

“Beca?” Chloe calls, setting her bag and keys on her kitchen counter before heading down the hall to her bedroom, coffee in hand. “Beca?” She pushes the door to her room open with her foot, stopping in her tracks and nearly dropping the cups again when she realizes that Beca is nowhere to be seen. A knot forming in her stomach, Chloe sets the cups down on her desk before pulling out her phone.  _No new messages_ , her screen flashes tauntingly. Hastily, she calls Beca, closing her eyes and willing her to answer.

* * *

_Bzzzzzz_ .

Beca jumps and fumbles for her phone.  _Call from Chloe Beale_. Quickly, she shoves her phone under her pillow and returns to her computer screen. After Jesse had dropped her off at her dad’s, she’d locked herself in her room and started booking a plane ticket back to her mom’s in Seattle. Her phone finally stops ringing, and Beca sighs, clicking  _finish booking_ just as her phone starts to ring again.

* * *

Aubrey gets out of her car, slamming the door behind her, and rushes into the apartment building. She takes the stairs two at a time to the third floor, her shoes making ominous clacking sounds echoing in the hallway, and pushes open Chloe’s front door without knocking.

“Chlo?” She hears sniffling coming from Chloe’s bedroom. Inside, she finds Chloe sitting on the floor, back against her bed, beside a small pile of tissues. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are tinted black with smeared mascara. “Oh, sweetie, what happened?”

“Beca—” Chloe’s voice breaks, and she presses a fresh tissue to her eyes. Aubrey slides down next to her on the floor, smoothing her skirt and wrapping an arm around her best friend’s shoulders. Chloe takes a deep, shaky breath. “She was gone when I came back with coffee this morning and she won’t answer my calls or texts.”

“I will kick her scrawny ass,” Aubrey mutters under her breath.

“Don’t,” Chloe pleads. “I could just be overreacting.”

“Well,” Aubrey starts, standing and offering a hand to Chloe. “First, you’re going to wash your face. Then, you’re going to eat and"—she glances at her watch—"go to bed early and then tomorrow we’re going to Beca’s house yell at her.” Chloe pulls herself up and nods, too drained to offer any argument.

“Can we at least get drunk first?”

* * *

Chloe takes a deep breath, steeling herself and raising her hand to knock on the door. She feels jittery; there are doubts flying through her mind at top speed.  _What am I going to say to Beca?_  she thinks, hand still hovering above the solid oak. Then another thought comes:  _What if Beca’s not here?_

“Chloe?”

Chloe snaps back to reality. “Hm?”

“Knock,” Aubrey urges, gently pushing on the small of Chloe’s back. Chloe stands there for a few moments more, biting her lip, before Aubrey reaches around her and raps her knuckles against the door. Chloe holds her breath, waiting.

The door opens.

“Hello, girls,” Dr. Mitchell greets them, clad in jeans and a t-shirt. They’ve met a few times, at the ICCAs and around campus.

“Hi, Dr. Mitchell,” Aubrey says, stepping around a mute Chloe. “Is Beca here?”

Dr. Mitchell looks surprised. “No, she left this morning for Seattle. She’s staying with her mom for the summer. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No, it must have slipped her mind,” Aubrey says, a fake smile on her face. Inside, Chloe knows she is seething. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No problem. It was nice seeing you,” Dr. Mitchell says, waving and shutting the door. Chloe stands staring at the door, feeling stunned. Aubrey looks at her with an unreadable expression on her face, but says nothing, and loops an arm through Chloe’s. She leads the way to Chloe’s car, swiping the keys from Chloe’s pocket and slides into the driver’s seat. The car is silent as Aubrey pulls out onto the street. Chloe twists a lock of her hair, her mind racing with questions. She sniffles, her eyes prickling with tears.

Aubrey glances over at her. “I am going to kick that girl’s ass.”

* * *

“Attention passengers,” a voice blares out from the speaker above Beca’s seat, “we have now reached our maximum altitude.” The small light-up seatbelt sign dims with a  _ping_. Beca props her chin in her hand, gazing mindlessly out the window, thinking again how lucky she is to have scored a window seat on a last-minute booking. She fishes her phone out of her backpack and turns it on, bracing herself for the barrage of messages she’s sure to have. A text from Jesse. A missed call from her dad. A text from her mom. A voicemail from Aubrey. And thirteen missed calls, four voicemails, and nine texts from Chloe. Beca decides to listen to Aubrey’s message first. She punches in her passcode and tentatively puts the phone to her ear.

“ _What the hell, Beca?"_ blares Aubrey’s voice, sharp and pinched through the speaker.  _"I hope for your sake that this is all a misunderstanding. Chloe’s really upset. You better call her right now with a good explanation, or I will hunt you down and fuck you up.”_

Beca runs a hand through her hair, exhaling heavily, opening Jesse’s text next.

_**Jesse:** _ _hey bec, chloe and aubrey called me. chloe sounds pretty upset and if you don’t call her soon aubrey might pull some godfather shit on you._

“I’m an idiot,” Beca mutters to herself under her breath.  _Of course Chloe’s upset,_ she thinks to herself.  _She’s probably freaking out because she slept with a girl. She’ll never speak to me again._ Beca closes her eyes, trying to focus on the sound of the plane’s engines, but her conscience won’t be silenced.  _Now I’m nothing to her but a drunken mistake._

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Beca listens to one of Chloe’s voicemails.

“ _Hey, Beca”_ —sniff— _“it’s Chloe. Um, I don’t know what I did or”_ —sniff— _“why you won’t talk to me but I’m sorry for whatever it is and—”_ Beca hits  _end_ , unable to listen to any more. The pain and sadness in Chloe’s voice is far too much to bear, so Beca deletes the rest of the messages and the texts without listening to or reading them.

* * *

_Three weeks later_

_Knock knock knock._

Chloe uncurls herself from her slouched position on the couch (where she had been watching an America’s Next Top Model marathon and checking her phone every two minutes) and pads to the door.  _I didn’t invite Aubrey over, did I?_  she thinks, unlatching the lock and opening the door.

“Stacie?” Chloe takes a step back in surprise at the sight of the tall brunette, scantily clad in denim short shorts and a dangerously low-cut flowy top.

“Aubrey called me,” Stacie says, stepping past Chloe into the apartment.

“Why?” Chloe blurts.

“To take you out. Have some fun,” Stacie says, smiling and pulling Chloe down the hall to her room by the arm as if it were her own house. “Aubrey said she would, but I’m ‘better equipped’.” She emphasizes her words with air quotes.

“Oh, Stacie, you don’t have to—”

“I’m taking you out,” Stacie interrupts, pulling open the doors to Chloe’s closet and begins rifling through its contents. Chloe can only sit on her bed and watch dumbly. Suddenly, an object comes flying at her and lands in her lap. It’s a nude-colored strapless bra.

Stacie shrugs. “You’ll probably need that.”

* * *

Chloe sits at a stool at the bar, watching the dancing, writhing people on the dance floor. The music is so loud she feels it reverberating through her whole body. Stacie had dragged her to some club fifteen minutes from her apartment. Chloe taps the heel of the three-inch wedges Stacie had made her wear along with a very short pair of white shorts and a baby blue strapless top she usually only wears to the beach.

“Hey.” She turns to find Stacie, cheeks flushed and slightly sweaty from dancing.

“Hi,” Chloe replies, sipping at the fruity cocktail drink Stacie had bought her (the girl has three different fake IDs).

“You’re not having fun,” Stacie says, pouting, taking a seat on the stool next to Chloe.

Chloe shrugs. “I don’t really feel like having fun.”

Stacie snaps her fingers. “You need a hookup to forget about Beca.”

“No, Stacie, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Chloe says, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. “Beca and I just friends, anyway. Or  _were_ just friends.” She laughs bitterly.

“Sure, whatever,” Stacie says, scanning the crowd. “There.” Chloe looks to where Stacie is pointing at the other end of the bar, where a girl with blond hair is sitting, her phone in one hand and a Bud Light in the other.

“No, she’s really not my type,” Chloe protests. “She might not even be into girls.”

“I bet you she is,” Stacie says, sounding sure of herself.

“And how do you know that?” Chloe asks.

“This is a gay club,” Stacie says. “Did you not know that?”

Chloe looks around. Sure enough, everyone on the dance floor seems to be dancing with a person of the same sex. “I still think this is a bad idea,” she says, but Stacie is already nudging her not-so-gently in the side. “Fine,” she mutters, slides off the stool, and approaches the girl.

“Um, hi,” she says, wringing her hands nervously before sticking them in her pockets.

The girl looks up and gives Chloe a once-over. “Hi.”

“I’m Chloe,” Chloe says, wincing at how awkward she sounds.

“Sam,” the girl says, holding up a closed fist. Chloe bumps it with her own, heart constricting as she thinks of what a  _Beca_  thing it is to do. The first time Chloe went in to hug Beca (perhaps for remembering the choreography all the way through? Chloe doesn’t remember the specifics.) the brunette had taken a step back and instead raising a fist. Chloe had hugged her anyway, ignoring Beca’s noises of protest, until the girl relaxed.

“Chloe? My eyes are up here.” Chloe blinks back into the present, face heating when she realizes that she had, in fact, been staring at Sam’s chest while lost in thought.

“Oh, I wasn't—I didn't—sorry,” she stutters, embarrassed.

Sam smiles at her, scooting off the barstool. “Do you want to dance?”

* * *

Beca is awoken by a knock at her bedroom door.

“Go 'way,” she groans, burrowing further under her blanket. The door opens anyway, her mother, Kay, arms crossed, standing in the doorway.

“Beca, you need to get up,” she says, glancing at her watch as she strides into the room.  
“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Mmph.” Beca peeks one eye out from her cocoon. “Why?”

Kay pulls the blanket down to reveal her daughter’s entire face. “You’ve been here for three weeks and have barely left this bedroom.”

“I just feel like being alone.” Beca rolls to face the wall so she won’t have to look at her mother’s concerned face.

“Well, you can’t spend the next five weeks in here,” Kay says, opening the blinds covering the window. The room floods with soft light, shadows falling across the clothes, books, and miscellaneous food wrappers strewn across the carpet.

Beca screws her eyes shut against the sudden brightness. “Why not?” she whines.

“Because I’m your mother and I said so,” Kay says, but Beca can hear the smile in her voice. “Get up, take a shower, go outside.” She heads out of the room, reappearing a moment later and adding, “And clean this room.”

* * *

Chloe awakes with a start, feeling disoriented.  _Okay,_  she thinks to herself,  _I’m in my room and… I’m not wearing clothes._  She feels movement next to her and looks down to see someone stirring beneath the blanket, blond hair splayed on the pillow. Sam.

Crap.

 _At least she’s still here,_  Chloe thinks bitterly. She slides out of bed, locating a pair of shorts and a t-shirt as Sam’s eyes flutter open.

“Morning,” Chloe says softly.

Sam groans. “Hi.” She sits up, holding the sheet to her bare chest. “Did we…?” she trails off, running a hand through her hair.

“Uh, yeah,” Chloe says sheepishly, scratching her head. She remembers dancing with Sam, taking a few (okay, several) shots, calling a cab, and tripping up the stairs to her apartment, arm in arm with Sam. A beat of awkward silence passes.

“Is this weird?” Sam asks, eyes searching the room for her undergarments.

“No, it’s fine,” Chloe lies. She’s never been the type to sleep with strangers (or, well,  _girls_ ) and while the prospect of no strings attached is enticing, a part of it—a large part—just feels wrong.

Sam breaks into an easy smile. “Cool. Well, help me find my clothes and I’ll give you my number.”

* * *

_Two weeks later_

“Urgh!” Beca rips her headphones off her ears and slams her laptop shut in frustration. She’s been trying to perfect a mix for the last two hours, but her mind just won’t focus. Actually, she’s been having that issue a lot lately. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Chloe’s face, eyes brimming with tears. Chloe’s heartbroken voice on the bit of the voicemail Beca listened to echoes in her ears. Feeling guilty, frustrated and, well, desperate, she dials Jesse’s number. After three rings, he picks up.

“ _Hey, Becaw! Long time no chat.”_

“Hi,” Beca says, her voice sounding small.

“ _What’s up?”_

“I—” Beca chews the inside of her cheek, unsure of what to say. _I think I’m in love with Chloe and I broke her heart before we even got together?_  Not. “I’m bored,” is what she settles on.

“ _I don’t believe you,"_ Jesse says. Beca sighs, her resolve breaking.  _Fuck it._

"I can’t stop thinking about Chloe,” she says, twisting the material of her shirt nervously. She’s never been one to talk about her feelings, and certainly not about such personal matters.

“ _Have you called her yet?”_

“No,” Beca says sheepishly, rising from her chair and beginning to pace the room.

“ _Then call her,”_  Jesse says, as if talking to a small child.

“I can’t.”

“ _Why not?”_

“I just  _can’t_ ,” Beca says, resiting the urge to add, “so there!”

“ _Do you care about Chloe?”_

The question stops Beca in her tracks. “Of course I do.”

“ _Then grow a pair and_ call  _her.”_

“She probably hates me,” Beca says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“ _Then call her,”_  Jesse repeats.

A flash of anger surges through Beca. She clenches the hand not holding the phone into a fist. “Are you deaf? I said I.  _Can’t_ ,” Beca shouts. “I can’t call her, Jesse, because I fucking slept with my fucking best friend—which I can’t even  _remember_ —whom I’m in love with who doesn’t feel the same fucking way and I fucking snuck out on her!” She takes a breath, suddenly feeling empty. “I made her cry,” Beca whispers, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Jesse is silent for a moment.  _“So you_ did  _sleep with her?”_

“You’re an ass.”

“ _How do you know that she doesn’t feel the same way?”_

“I just do,” Beca says, pulling absently at a loose thread on her jeans.

“ _Well, hard to argue with that,"_ Jesse says sardonically.  _"You’re going to have to face her sooner or later.”_

Beca bites her lip. “I choose later.”

* * *

“Bree!” Chloe flings open the door to Aubrey’s apartment, kicking her shoes off onto the mat. They land haphazardly, looking out of place next to the careful line of Aubrey’s shoes.

“In the kitchen,” Aubrey calls. Chloe rounds the corner to see Aubrey popping open a bottle of wine, setting it down on the counter to give Chloe a hug.

“How was the cruise? You’re so tan! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ten years,” Chloe says in a rush, admiring the blond’s bronze, sun-kissed skin.

“It was only two weeks,” Aubrey says, laughing. “It was really nice. Relaxing. Even if I did have to listen to my dad talk about work during every meal.” She rolls her eyes. “How’re you? Have you heard from Beca?”

Chloe drops her shoulders. “No.”

“Then forget her,” Aubrey says, handing Chloe a glass of wine and leading the way to her couch.

“I can’t,” Chloe says quietly. “And believe me, I’ve tried.” She sets her glass on the coffee table and wrings her hands anxiously. “I met this girl when I was out with Staice and we—you know—” Chloe blushes, gesturing vaguely. “But the whole time we were together I was thinking about Beca.”

Aubrey raises her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Not like  _that_ ,” Chloe says quickly, then pauses. “Okay, maybe a little bit like that. I just kept noticing all of the ways she wasn’t like Beca. You know what I mean?”

Aubrey shrugs. “I don’t know what you see in her.” Chloe gets a faraway look in her eyes and opens her mouth, but Aubrey holds up a hand. “Nor do I want to know.”

“I should hate her,” Chloe says, propping her chin on her hand. “But I just  _can’t_.”

“Well,” Aubrey says, polishing off the last of the wine in her glass. “You have all of next year to talk about it.”

Chloe groans. “I’m starting to rethink grad school.”

Aubrey’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not,” Chloe says, “well, not really, anyway.”

“Does Beca know?” Aubrey asks, switching on the TV and flipping through the guide.

“No, I don’t think so,” Chloe says, curling her legs underneath her.

Aubrey chuckles. “I’d like to see her face when she finds out.”

* * *

_Chloe Beale added Barden University Graduate School to her education._

“Shit!” Beca pulls out her phone and calls Jesse.

“ _Hel—”_

He barely gets the word out before Beca interrupts. “Chloe’s staying at Barden for grad school!”

“ _How do you know? Were you stalking her Facebook?”_

“Of course not,” Beca lies, blinking a few times as if she had misread the text onscreen. There’s a moment of silence on Jesse’s end before… “Are you laughing at me?”

“ _Oh, Becaw. You are so screwed.”_

* * *

_Three weeks later_

“Are you going to talk to her?”

Beca looks up from where she’s setting up her DJ equipment in her new dorm room. Jesse had come over to “help” but so far all he’s done is push buttons at random on her computer and eat the emergency bag of M&Ms that was in her backpack.

“I guess I don’t really have a choice,” Beca says, swallowing heavily, stomach twisting with anxiety. Just like it does every time Beca is reminded of Chloe.

“Then go,” Jesse says, like he has reached some miraculous conclusion that will solve the entire problem.

“Um,” Beca says, stalling by adjusting the knobs on her mixing board.

“Look, Bec, you can either talk to her now in private or risk running into her on campus,” Jesse says. “Or at Bellas practice.”

Beca shifts from one foot to another nervously. “I should,” she says, more to herself than to Jesse. She should, and she knows she should, but event just thinking about facing Chloe makes her hands shake.

“Go,” Jesse urges. “Apologize, confess your undying love, and then you can tell me about the make-up sex tomorrow.”

“Okay,  _no_ ,” Beca says, opening the door and pointing down the hallway. “I’ll go, but just to get away from you and your hormones.”

* * *

Chloe is lying on her couch, mindlessly staring at a book she is  _supposed_  to be reading when someone knocks at her door.  _I didn’t invite Aubrey over, did I?_  she thinks as she unlocks the door and opens it. She gasps.

“B-Beca?” she stammers, mouth hanging open in shock.

“Uh, hi,” Beca says, rocking back and forth from her heels to the balls of her feet, something Chloe knows she does when she is nervous. “Can we talk?”

Chloe  _should_  say no. Slam the door in her face. Run off into the sunset with Sam (whom she never actually called after their… encounter), never to think of Beca again. “Okay.” She steps back from the doorway, gesturing for Beca to come in, never taking her eyes off the girl. She’s about to lead Beca to the couch, but suddenly that seems too intimate, so she pulls out a chair at the kitchen table instead. Beca sits down, staring at her hands. Chloe sits back and crosses her arms. “So talk.”

Beca takes a visibly deep, shaky breath. “Chloe, I am so, so sorry,” she says, forcing herself to meet Chloe’s eyes for the first time, and Chloe can see they are filled with tears. “There’s nothing I can say to justify what I did, and you have every right to hate me, but I just want you to know that I am sorry.” Tears start to spill over Beca’s cheeks and she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. Chloe pushes a napkin across the table, resisting the urge to wrap Beca into a hug until she calms down. Before she can stop herself, she tugs at one of Beca’s wrists until the other girl lowers it, and Chloe takes her hand, slick with tears, between her own.  _What am I doing?_ Chloe asks herself.  _I should be making her_ grovel _, not comforting her._

“Beca, I—” Chloe’s voice cracks, and she clears her throat. “I don’t want to be mad at you, but you really hurt me, Beca. I forgive you, but I’ll need some time before we can try and rebuild our friendship.”

Beca nods, sniffling loudly. “I get it.”

They sit in silence for several minutes before Chloe blurts “Why?”

“Huh?” Beca looks up from where she had been very concentratedly picking at her nails.

“Why did you do it, Beca? Why did you run out and ignore me for two months?” Chloe repeats softly.

Beca blanches. “Um.”

Chloe frowns. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

“Well,” Beca says slowly, shredding the napkin, damp with her tears, into bits, and squeezes her eyes shut. “Ikindoflikeyoualot.”

“What?”

“I like you,” Beca says again, blushing furiously. “In an, um, non-platonic way.”

“Oh,” Chloe says, taken aback. Her stomach twists, and she’s not sure if it’s anxiety or excitement. “And so you… decided to pretend I didn’t exist?”

“When I woke up in your bed I panicked,” Beca says softly, staring down at the table. “I slept with my best friend—my  _straight_  best friend. And I couldn’t even remember it.”

Chloe snorts. “I wouldn’t really classify myself as totally straight—wait, we didn’t sleep together.” Chloe looks at Beca curiously. “Why do you think we slept together?”

“Uh, because I woke up in your bed in no shirt and your pants,” Beca says slowly. “We  _didn’t_  sleep together?”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head for emphasis. “You got hammered and puked all over yourself. And my floor,” Chloe adds, and Beca blushes. “So I lent you some clothes and put you to bed.”

Beca sinks down in her chair and hides her face in her hands. “I wish I were dead.” Then she peeks one eye out. “Wait, you’re not straight?”

Now it’s Chloe’s turn to blush. “Not exclusively…”

“Oh.” Beca bites her lip and looks down at her lap, and Chloe can’t help but notice how  _cute_  it is. “Well,” Beca says, starting to push back her chair, “I think I’ve made a sufficient ass of myself today.”

“Beca, wait,” Chloe says. Beca looks up at her. Her eyeliner has smeared and it gives her a raccoonish look. “I still have your clothes.” Beca nods and Chloe brushes past her to retrieve the jeans and t-shirt, carefully folded, from on top of her dresser. “I washed them.” She puts them in Beca’s arms, their fingers brushing.

“Thanks. And I’m sorry for puking on your floor,” Beca says, looking uncomfortable. “And, you know, on our friendship. Figuratively.” She gives Chloe a sad little smile and moves to leave. Before she can stop herself, Chloe wraps Beca into a hug. The brunette tenses, surprised, before melting into the touch.

“Chloe?” Beca whispers, her breath hot on Chloe’s neck.

“Yeah?”

“I have an inappropriate urge to kiss you now.”

Chloe’s breath hitches. Every logical fiber in her body is telling her no, but an even louder voice is screaming  _yes_. “Then do it,” she breathes.

Beca’s lips are soft, and her mouth tastes like spearmint gum. Her body floods with warmth, like drinking a hot beverage on a cold day. She presses closer, weaving her fingers into Beca’s hair as the smaller girl cups her cheek. Eventually, they pull apart, breathing heavily, still embracing.

Beca leans back to look at Chloe, smiling tentatively. “Is this weird?”

Chloe pauses. “No,” she says. And means it.


End file.
